


Aw, winter, no

by b5160_9



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Attempts at humour, Deaf Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, Im not good at tagging, M/M, maybe angst?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-05-24 07:46:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6146526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b5160_9/pseuds/b5160_9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint comes back to his house and finds a stranger in his bed. He befriends the said stranger and decides to keep him.<br/>Or Steve looks for his lost long best friend, Natasha doesn't like the winter soldier, Tony likes to poke shiny things with a screw driver, and Bruce is brewing everyone tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work hasn't been beta read, so sorry for all the errors. This story's supposed to be after the Winter Soldier, before the Age of Ultron. And Clint isn't married nor has a farm, because the farm was very confusing to me. Really confusing. Clint is living at his house at Bed-stuy, Thor's at Asgard, Natasha lives somewhere else, Steve and Bruce are living at Tony's tower.
> 
> Thank you for reading.

Aw, Barton. You idiot.

Clint said to himself when he opened the door. He must have left a window open or something, since the inside of his house is almost as cold as outside. Kicking the door closed, he moved toward the sofa, dragging Lucky with him. But instead of following him to the nice, comfortable sofa, Lucky decided to move towards Clint’s bedroom, dragging Clint behind.

“Aw, Lucky, No. I want sofa. Not bed. I got stuff to do. And I also want tv.”

Lucky pointed at the bedroom with his nose, lied down, making a small hmph noise. Clint gently pulls at Lucky’s chain, but the dog seemed reluctant to move. So, muttering ‘Fine. Be that way. See if I’m sharing my pizza with you.’ under his breath, Clint scooched down to unchain Lucky. That’s when he noticed the freezing cold breeze coming out through the slightly opened door. Huh, weird. He did a brief flashback of this morning, but he can’t remember opening his bedroom window since, well, the last time he had to jump out of his window. Which was quite some time ago. Nat? No, she’s in…where did she say she was going? Now in full be-careful-or-might-end-up-dead mode, Clint peered into the room, noticing the open window. Pulling out a small dagger from his pocket, he slowly pushed the door open, moving cautiously to stay silent. Holding the dagger tightly, he stepped inside, taking in all the corners and spaces where someone or something might be hiding. Clint froze, when he heard a small grunt from his bed and turned to look.

“What the hell?”

He found a battered looking guy in his bed. Clint couldn’t see the guy’s face, cause of the thick scarf and long hair. The guy rustled for a bit, letting out another grunt, twisting his body under the blanket. Clint slowly moved toward the bed, eyes fixed on the intruder. Then, it’s kind of a blur, he accidently stepped on a particularly squeaky floor and suddenly he had a gloved hand on his neck and a non-gloved hand gripping his right hand. And his hand hurts. It fucking hurts. Still, Clint held to his dagger and stared into the stranger’s eye. Under thick, messy hair was a pair of cold grey eyes, staring at him. Clint tested the grip on his hand and it was tight. And the stranger didn’t seem to be very pleased at his action, because it got tighter. Clint considered the moment for a second, then let go of the dagger, and held up both of his hand.

“Look, bro. I don’t know you. And I don’t think you know me either. But you’re in my bed, and I don’t share my bed with a stranger. Well, not often. Anyway, I don’t know you. And I’m not armed. Well, was, but as you know I dropped the knife. And I'm quite attached to my hand and I need it for my job. I need my job. I got a dog to feed, pizzas to buy.”

The stranger just stared at him. Clint tested the grip one more time. His hand was starting to feel numb.

“Bro, in case you didn’t understand, that was a request asking you to let go of my hand. And my neck, if you don’t mind.”

They stayed silent for a few more seconds, neither one of them moving. Then the stranger blinked and slowly removed both of his hand. Clint watched his eyes darting toward the window, the door, then back to him. Clint eyed the window for a second, and slowly moved a step closer to it. The guy shifted, ready to move if he decided he was a threat.

“I’m gonna close the window. It’s cold outside. And thanks to you, also my house is. And I don’t like cold.”

Clint took a few more steps, keeping his eye on the stranger. He slowly closed the window, and reached for the radiator under it. The guy eyed radiator, but stayed put. Clint stood there for a moment, scratching his head. So I got a man, most likely a homeless, with a killer grip, in my bed. And he's staring at me. But he didn't kill me. So he might not be that bad. Or maybe he is? Fuck, I washed my sheets yesterday. Now I have to wash them again. Wait, the sheets is not the problem here. Focus Barton.

"So I'm assuming you don't have a house. And not much clothes. I like your glove by the way."

The guy lifted an eyebrow at his word. He still looked like he was going to throttle him if he decides he's a threat, but in a less menacing way.

"And because you didn't take of your muddy shoes, I have to wash my sheets. Again. I mean, I don't really mind some guy crashing at my place while I'm out, but seriously bro, where are your manners?"

Now he's just staring at him like he doesn't understand what's coming out of his mouth. Which is fine, since neither can him. Clint let out a sigh, shoving his hands in his jean, slightly rocking back and forward on his foot. He was probably going to regret this. This is going to end with Nat finding his body by the radiator with the window opened, or something.

“So…You got a name or something?”

“James.”

So he can talk.

“Okay…and maybe a last name too?”

“Barnes.”

“Okay, guess I’ll just call you James. Hello, James. I'm Clint. You want some pizza?”

Clint turned his back and left the room, leaving the door wide open.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work hasn't been beta read, so I apology for the errors.  
> wow i'm so late. sorry.

He was lost. He knew he was in Brooklyn. But everything was different. _Different from what?_ He'd been walking around for weeks. He was cold, tired, hungry and...lonely. From time to time some battered looking images would flash through his head with a throbbing headache. At those times, he looked for the quietest, most isolated place he could find, slumped down, and buried his head in his gloved hands. _A theater? Alley? There's someone getting beat up._

"You okay there, dude?"

James startled out of his trance, looked up and noticed some old man peaking out from a window. _Wrong alley._ He waved him off with a grunt and got up. For a brief moment, the world spun around him, making him trip and fall down towards the trash cans. _Shit._ The old man shouted something, but he pretended that he didn't hear him and started walking again. It was getting late. And it's freaking cold. He needed to find some place to stay for the night or he might end up...froze to death or something. _Is that possible?_ He walked, searching for an empty or abandoned place. He was thinking about actually breaking into random rooms when he noticed a cracked open window. He went up the fire escape and into the room. Empty. _What kind of idiot leaves the window opened in the middle of winter?_

}}----->

"You want some pizza?"

James stared at the open door. The guy's move showed he was well-trained. Yet he was letting him stay here. Probably not that smart. He stayed on the bed, listening and watching the other guy move around through the open door, taking out beers, setting down pizza boxes, turning on the tv. He was acting as if he were used to having random people breaking into his house and throttling him. Soon he slumped down on his couch, chancing a glance towards him. When their eyes met he just raised an eyebrow, which was weirdly convincing and reassuring. James hesitated for a moment, but eventually got up from the bed and slowly walked into the living room. He eyed the doors and other possibly exits as he slumped down next to Clint on the purple sofa.

"What's with the one eyed dog?"

James asked as he took a beer from the table. The dog, who seemed have noticed that they were talking about him, lifted his head from his paws and stared at him for a second before he flopped down his head.

"James, say hi to Lucky. Lucky, say hi to the guy who came through the window and didn't close it."

"He doesn't seem to be lucky. And the window was already opened. It's your own fault your place is cold."

"Yeah, well. Shit happens. And you could have closed it when you came it, seriously where are your manners?"

At Clint's retort James just let out a huff and took a swing at his beer while staring at the dog, which didn't seem to be even remotely bothered by the fact that the man who just tried to killed his owner was sitting next to him. _So much for a guard dog, I guess._ James nudged him with his foot to make some foot room but the dog didn't even budge. So James' left leg end up in an uncomfortable angle, while he took off his glove on his right hand and reached for a pizza. That some how perked Lucky's attention, causing him to sit up and stare at James.

"What."

James stared back at the dog.

"He wants pizza. He's pizza dog. He's staring at you because he wants you to give him pizza."

At Clint's words, James turned to stare at him, who just shrugged and reached for another slice. James shook his head incredulously, and bit into his pizza. A few awkward moments of silently eating while Clint flicked through channels until he landed on a rerun episode of Dog Cop.

"Oh good. I missed this episode last time. You saw the last episode where Sergeant Whiskers had to run like five blocks to catch the bad guy and..."

"I've never seen it."

" _What?_  You never watched Dog Cops?! How's that even possible?"

James gave him a shrug and opened another pizza box.

"Didn't have a tv."

}}----->

A few episodes and a rather lengthy synopsis telling from Clint ("You see Sergeant Whiskers is chasing this guy." "That guy?" "No, they're pretending to chase that guy so that they could chase the other guy more easily." "What other guy?" "Come on, I told you like 3 minutes ago!" "Not my fault you suck at explaining.") James was hooked. What can you say, it was a good show. The room had gotten warmer, thanks to the radiator, and the pizza was good. Apparently Lucky had moved at some point and was now lying with his head resting on his feet. It was...comfortable. James suddenly realized how relax he felt. He was with a probably trained mercenary or assassin, yet he felt...at ease. _Huh._ It somehow reminded him of something. _High-pitched radio sounds filling the air. Squeaky beds. Talking about some girl he met at the bar. while cleaning...a gun? Sound of pencil scratching over a piece of paper.._ He was analyzing that thought when Clint opened his mouth.

"So...I figure you've already noticed I only have one bed."

James let out a sigh and stood up, startling the half asleep dog by doing so. He couldn't stay. He shouldn't stay here. He barely knew this guy.

"I'll leave. Thanks for the pizza and beer. And check your windows next time."

"No, no. It's not that. You can stay, I mean if that's what you want. I was saying my sofa's free. And I think it's a good sofa. I am very proud of how comfy my sofa is. I'd probably fallen asleep as much I slept in my bed, come to think about it."

"You won't see me any...I can stay?"

Clint just shrugged, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"If you are willing to take a shower, than you may stay. No offense, but you look like you have a shower overdue. Very overdue."

"Did I hold you neck for too long? Did I cut off the oxygen long enough to cause you some kind of brain damage or something?"

The words left his mouth before he could think about them. James realized what he said and abruptly shut his mouth. Clint looked him for a full 10 seconds, then started laughing, almost dropping his beer. James stood there for a while, waiting for Clint to stop laughing but it seemed as it were going to take a while, so he just flicked him in the forehead with his right hand. With a overly dramatic 'ouch' Clint finally stopped laughing and breathed for a moment.

"Trust me, my brain doesn't need to be cut off of oxygen to make bad decisions. Not that this is one! I like you. I don't know why, considering the fact that you've made my newly cleaned sheet dirty, but I got good eyes, and Lucky seems to like you. Also I had worst house guest than you."

"I can't pay you."

"No need. I think I own the building."

"I...I'm not safe."

"Yeah, kinda figured that out earlier. Though you seem chill now, and I, well, I know it can be hard sometimes and...just...it's better to have a bad day in a warm apartment than in at a cold dark alley?"

"What?"

"I mean, uh, I take it you're a veteran or something? I kinda know how it can be, coming back. You know, nightmares and stuff."

A veteran. Not a lie. But not a truth either. James opened his mouth to say something, but he was at a loss of words. Slumping down at the sofa, he rubbed his hands over his face with a low groan. He startled when he felt something soft and wet poking at his right hand.  He peeked through his hand to see a brownish gold face staring at him.

"See? Lucky wants you to stay too!"

"I..."

"Look, dude. I'm not forcing anything. But it's freezing outside. At least stay until winter ends."

 

 


End file.
